Peacemaker: A Megara Mordue Installation
by TheOGSpacegoat
Summary: There's no Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter tag. How odd. I don't own but two of the characters shown so far, but more may be down the line.


**CHAPTER ONE: A NEW JOB**

The name is Megara Mordue, nice and aliterate for those who have that sort of Stan Lee comic book boner. I was born in a big ass capital of Hungary that's called Budapest. The sort of city you imagine looks like St. Petersburg does in the magazines, but probably looks more like St. Petersburg does in reality. Anyway, I have a special gift. The gift of magicking things to death. Sometimes from death, but mostly to death. I can do other simple charms, but my breed of magic rests with the dead.

Apparently my line of family has this gift every few generations. Now let me clear this up, I'm from Hungary, but not Hungarian in blood, I'm a sort of type of nomadic peoples of the area called the Rromani. We have a filthier name, like calling us tramps, or gypsies. Sort of like referring to literally any type of Asian as a Chinaman. Even the non East-Asian ones.

Anyway, if you trace the line back, we crossed with some sort of Nordic raiders and now I have these nifty recessive genes that give me the bone structure and physique of a Rroma gal, with the benefits of being a white blonde, blue-eyed ice queen. My sister got those genes as well, but hers seemed warmer, less ice and ocean and more gold and cornflowers. Alas she got the Nord genes, but not the ~once-in-a-lifetime~ prize of being a fucking animator. De-animator? Pass-inator? I dyed my hair auburn. I hated the blonde, but it always seemed to grow back faster.

Whatever, I have to wear gloves when touching normal humans. I've gotten used to it by now, to be honest. So now, sitting in the front office of Animators Inc. staring at the middle-aged man at the front desk, I shifted in my "workplace-chic" outfit I'd bought with my last chunk of payment from my previous job, and was incredibly uncomfortable.

I could feel threads from each of the animators, pulling at my bare forearms like fishing line, feeling my power, testing me. Finally, a tall man with snowy hair appeared from around the corner, with a pissed-off looking bitch in tow. Now let's be clear, I'm not usually the type to call someone a bitch unless they deserved it, or wanted it. Much like me, I had a feeling she'd like being called a bitch.

"Miss Mordue, follow me."

My eye twitched ever so slightly, and I rose to my feet, smoothing my forest green dress against my legs, and my silver bangles jingling very slightly. The cuffs strained at my muscles as I rose, and I was lucky the buttons were sewn on well.

When we were all three in the audience, He motioned for me to sit in one of the high-backed chairs in front of his desk, and I sat at full attention. I kept eye contact with the small, dark haired woman who had followed us in, and she leaned against the wall to my left, adjacent to some potted plant. A ficus maybe?

"My name is Bert Vaughn, Miss Mordue. It's a pleasure to meet someone with your talents, and we are interested in you indeed here at Animators Inc."

I grinned, an empty gesture I'd become accustomed to in order to win over bosses. Another animation company, another place I'd spend a month tops, before moving on to another, mysteriously off the schedule.

"It's wonderful to meet you Mr. Vaughn, I wasn't aware-"

I glanced at the woman. I knew her by face, had seen her on television and in the papers.

"-we would have someone sitting in today. And Ms. Mordue, if it pleases you. Though you are very welcome to call me Megara."

She seemed amused that I had corrected the boss. This did not amuse him, but it barely showed, and only in his eyes. I was damn short of batting my long white eyelashes, coated in mascara to appear more normal.

"Ms. Blake here feels the same way."

Ah yes, Ms. Anita Blake. Vampire executioner, professional hardass. Terrifying and tiny. Dear God I hope I never say that out loud.

"-and your particular set of skills make you invaluable as a form of insurance in case zombies get out of control."

Set of skills? Made me sound like some sort of death deale- oh. He had me there. Fucking shit.

"So if you would go ahead and sign the paper in front of you, we can get you on the job tonight, and send you out with Lawrence and Anita to do a bit of a group activity."

I raised my perfectly penciled on brow and stood, grabbing the pen he held towards me, and printing, then signing the document. A quick skim told me I was guaranteed two years with the company. Nice.

"I'd like a copy of that, if that's alright."

He nodded, and handed me a folder.

"Anita will show you to your office. I trust you have clothing you can wear to the raising."

I nodded. My pretty white Jeep held a gym bag that contained my kit. Black lycra yoga pants, with efficient-looking calf high boots that laced up the front and zipped on the sides. A black athletic shirt that fit snugly against my body, emphasizing my chest and slightly muscular build. Latex gloves, and various spices and other animation paraphernalia were in a smaller bag, as well as my favorite knife. A sleek, single edged blade that had a snakehead pommel. It was a gift from a greatful client.

I padded silently on my nude kitten heels after Blake, a skill that took practice, especially if you had a "special set of skills" that involved gifting true death to people who didn't necessarily want to true-die. We walked to an office in the far back, and she opened the door, ushering me in and following me, closing the door behind her.

I scanned the small office, peering through the dust. She threw the light switch and showed me a better office than I ever had before. It was plain, and in a slight state of disuse. Well-loved by its previous tenant, but empty and dusty. Maybe the housekeeper didn't come back here?

"Have a seat, and let's talk."

She said suddenly, motioning to the leather chair behind the desk. As I sat, I noticed the nameplate was already emblazoned with my name. So much for an "interview". Guess Bert thought I was special. Skippy.

She sat across from me, saying nothing. I took the few moments to study her. Small frame, but something not white bread in her blood. Curvy, and with black curly hair and dark eyes. Her skin was pale, and she had that kind of face that you'd imagine someone called the Executioner would have. That sort of take-no-shit but raise-all-hell face.

"So, Megara-"

"Meg; please, Ms. Blake."

I gave her my award-winning smile.

"Cut the L'Oreal shit, let's have a real heart to heart. And it's Anita. I'm not your superior here."

She wasn't having it, so I let the facade down.

"Well shit, Blake. What's on your mind?"

She leaned over like I did when no one was looking. A masculine lean with her feet firmly planted.

"You're something real special or Bert wouldn't be wearing that shit-eating grin back there. You bring the dead back? No big deal. You make the dead more dead? Now that is really nifty."

I laughed, and it came out in a sharp bark, unavoidably cruel. It was a knee jerk reaction.

"Normally the gloves are a bit too femme fatale, but seeing as how I make the living rather dead as well, I like to keep them on for shits and giggles. And to keep from offing people. I'm not going to endanger anyone. I know what I'm doing."

She made a face that smacked of doubt. Gee thanks.

"You're a real hardass Blake. I know that. I'm not encroaching on your territory. You want to read my aura and see how I'm a good girl?"

"Me and a few others. We want to know you don't mean any harm."

I cocked my brow again.

"I'll play along. You got an appointment set up?"

"Let me see your hands. Take your gloves off. Don't worry, I won't touch you."

"No human servant shit. Don't pull on the marks."

She stared at me as though I'd grown a second head.

"Don't look at me like that. I know what you are, I'd been there myself. It didn't-"

I thought about her, and pain must have flashed across my face.

"-it didn't end well. She's gone."

I slid my gloves off, and my hands were imprinted with the seams. Skin-tight kid gloves did that. I held out my hands side by side across the desk, the slender and lily white fingers relaxed, palms facing up. They were in stark contrast to the tattoos on my palms of eyes wide open, done in navy blue.

"The Hamsa. Wards off the evil eye. Hiding from someone?"

"You could say that."

She held her hands hovering over mine, and opened up her gates, exhaling. I slowly let my walls down, letting my power trickle out over my skin like tiny rivulets of water streaming out, but upward into her hands. Our power met in the empty space, gently, resonating. But hers stung, and I jerked away.

"You're an animator, but something else. You may even be a necromancer like myself."

It was my turn to give her a weird look. It must have looked particularly weird, because she laughed. It softened her face by a few years, and I found myself smiling. The door opened, and I snatched my gloves, reapplying them under the desk, snapping the wrist cuffs in place.

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

A slender man, maybe my age hovered at the door. He was holding the door open by maybe a foot behind his back, as though he'd readily slip out if we dismissed him. God love him, he was adorable, like a overgrown Howdy Doody.

"You must be Lawrence. I'm Meg."

I held out my gloved hand, and he shook it. The other animator.

"Please, just Larry, ma'am. Lawrence makes me feel old."

"Ma'am makes me feel old. No Lawrence; no ma'am. Deal?"

He chuckled, and nodded.

"Whatever you say. We're headed out in about a half-hour. Do you want to use the office locker-room to get dressed?"

I nodded. Seemed like a good idea.

Running out to my car, I met eyes with a man at the entrance. Night had fully fallen now, and there was no mistaking; this was a vampire. The newly dead, maybe 3 or 4 years now. He looked at me and winked. He was a short, squat man, with a hideous suit. I smiled that curt smile women give when they really mean 'fuck off', and grabbed my bag from the Jeep. When I returned, he was inside talking with Anita about the job. I was doing a job for a corpse. A corpse for a corpse I guess. Or many corpses, as it were. This was a group raising.

In the locker room, I showered, and my hair-dye just slid out of my hair. Well, shit. Back to being Spooks. What the fuck is with my hair anyway? It resists curling, grows super fast, and can't be dyed. I watched the colour slide down the drain in the floor, and scrubbed my face of makeup.

I stepped out of the shower and watched myself in the mirror as I dressed. I looked like death itself, pale with ghostly features. Then again, spirits look nothing like this. I slid my necklace into the high collared shirt. A silver pentacle of change from a Wiccan friend.

I wasn't a practitioner really, but hell if it didn't mean something to me. Change is part of my life, and if I'm gonna get a heated-metal burn on my skin, it better be pretty and not some stupid lower case t. Also Catholics sort of ex-communicated those who practiced death-magic, and that's sort of my thing.

I looked at my reflection a bit longer, and noted that I looked like a scary fucking bitch. Good. I don't want to use that reality television phrase, but damn if it didn't fit; I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to win; or kill dead things. Make dead things dead-er. Uh... never mind.

Walking out front, I nodded curtly at Anita and Larry, and waited outside the door with my back across my shoulder. I had weapons on me, two knifes in sheaths at my inner calves. I don't trust vampires much, and shit seems to go down around Ms. Blake.

"Dressed for a funeral at the gym? Also weren't you a redhead before your shower?"

Larry said, leaning against the wall next to me. I couldn't help it, I giggled. He grinned a wide, sloppy grin.

"Anita is driving the client, we'll follow her. She's read your file, but I have no idea what you can do, so do you mind explaining what you are going to do at the session on the way?"

I nodded and we slid into the Jeep. Indie rock music slid softly through the speakers, and he seemed at home in the leather seat, wearing an older pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a... wait a second...

"Is that Kefka?"

I said, actually curious, and he laughed again. A young and hearty laugh. God save what this kid might see around Anita.

"Yeah, it is! You play video games?"

I laughed, and nodded.

"So, you wanted me to explain what I do, right?"

He nodded, and I took a deep breath.

"Alright. Essentially my... abilities... extend to bringing final rest to those I touch. I can contain it for the most part, but I wear gloves to keep people from touching my skin by accident. That also explains my outfit."

He watched me, attentive.

"That covers my abilities outside of animation. Now as for what will happen tonight, I will be acting as sort of a grounding unit. While you and Anita perform the ritual, I will be focusing my energy on holding the graveyard at a standstill, so that no magic seeps out. I know her abilities are strong, and I suppose our boss Mr. Vaughn wanted me to make sure there weren't bodies caught in the crossfire. I didn't understand that at first, because Anita can control an army of zombies on her own. But if the clients are vampires, or vampires will be there, I get it. Her pull as a necromancer might call to them, temporarily taking their free will. And as you know, hypnosis is magical malfeasance, punishable by the death penalty."

He seemed pale after my explanation, but perked up again.

"So you're like Yuna? You send people to the afterlife."

"Yeah uh... kind of like that. That's very poetic. But you could also say I was like a wildfire, or a gun. I kill, and it's not even my fault. Be careful not to touch my skin, especially if I seem emotionally compromised."

Could he get any paler? God. We pulled into the gravel lot and my skin started to prick with energy. More vampires, and something almost musky. Shifters of some kind, I guess. I had no idea the packs were so close to the vamps here. Preternatural besties?

Sliding out of the vehicle, I walked towards Anita and the client. I put on that stunner grin, but it didn't seem to carry in my more spooky appearance.

"Hi, I'm Meg, I'll be assisting Anita and Larry tonight. It's a real pleasure meeting you."

I slammed up those mental walls so quick Anita flinched. I reached out a gloved hand, and he took it nervously, shaking. I could feel his cool sweat through the animal skin.

"Willie McCoy. Have you uh- have you had the time to read the file?"

"Only enough to know we'll be working on a group raising."

I felt a bit of a wind on the bit of bare neck exposed, and turned. The man grabbed my arm, squeezing it. Fuck, this hurt. My teeth grit and my eyes narrowed, and I forced a cold spike of energy into his hand. He dropped my arm like a hot piece of metal, but I stared into his pale face, into eyes so green I could smell pine. He seemed unsatisfied that he couldn't pull me in.

"What a gentlemen we have here, Willie. He with you?"

I hissed, flicking my bangs out of my eyes. This man was a vampire, and an old one.

"That hurt."

I feigned surprise, and softened my face.

"Yes, it really did!"

He sneered and stalked off.

"A real doozy, that one."

Anita laughed.

"I think he doesn't like you."

"It's nothing I'm not used to."

We walked towards the grave-site, and I took my place behind the main headstone as Anita and Larry drew the circle in the dirt, and slid off my gloves. A small group of vampires and two shifters had gathered to the right of the grave. One I recognized from television; The Master of the City, Jean-Claude. Well la-di-fucking-da. Can't wait to look suspicious to him.

"Lady and gentlemen; i am going to remove my gloves and draw my circle. It is important that you do not stray too close, and also that you refrain from touching me. My magic is strong, and dangerous when tampered with."

I gave a curt bow, my white-blonde hair falling into my eyes. I stripped my gloves off, placing them in one of the outstretched hands of the angel statue on the monument. There was maybe three, four names on it. One was a single name; a vamp. Great. More shenanigans.

I pulled out my ointment and ceremonial knife, and dipped the blade into the thick cream. I smeared it along my nose bridge, on each side of my neck, and touched my closed lids. The blade hung loose in my hand as I watched Anita prepare the sacrifices; two goats and a sheep. A sheep? Were they out of goats? Why not a cow? Quantity over quality I guess. Something told me the things in the grave didn't merit a good sacrifice.

She turned her head to me, and nodded.

"Go ahead, Meg."

I turned my back, and let my eyes slide closed, the minty smell of my ointment masking the smell of her own concoction. I stretched my arms out, and allowed my power to pool out towards the graves, like water running down a hill in neat lines. Thankfully, the vampires watching weren't in my quote 'line of fire'.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there... I do not sleep.

I am the thousand winds that blow...

I am the diamond glints on snow...

I am the sunlight on ripened grain...

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you waken in the morning's hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of gentle birds in circling flight...

I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry—

I am not there... I did not die..."

I sang softly, and felt the graves seal away, as though gates softly closed over each one. One was quiet. A man who had been laid to permanent rest. I could feel the green-eyed vampire glare daggers at my back, peering out from under his hat. I twitched a bit, and my lines wavered, so I focused more. The surrounding noise deadened, and soon all I could hear was a soft wind, like snow falling in the late night, except it was late August.

I could feel the trio behind me rising, a pull at my power like something tugging on my bra strap, if my bra strap was inside my body. I ignored it, until I felt Anita brush her power against mine, and then slam into me. I stumbled forward, swearing, nearly falling out of my circle.

"What the fuck?"

I turned around to see a woman with long black hair, covered in what looked like ash, throwing herself against the protection circle. Her face made no attempt to look human, all angles and with a wide mouth, stretched poen to reveal fangs. Christ, she raised a vamp? I looked from Anita to the creature I'd only read about. Vampires who weren't properly disposed of. Denizens.

"What the fuck?"

I repeated, holding a pale hand out towards the thing that seemed to be shrieking at the top of its lungs.

"Can you kill it?"

Said a terrified voice from my left. Larry was huddled against the edge of the protective circle, bleeding from a deep scratch on his arm. Anita was pointing a gun at it.

"Do. Not. Fire. It will only make it angrier. It may be trapped in there with you Anita, but LArry is trapped in there with it."

I stepped from my circle into theirs, the rusty scent of blood filling my nostrils. Oh boy, here we go. I stared it down and it whipped to face me. It made a rasping noise, oh god... was that a laugh. Fuck.

"Kehotan teit, Goddess Kuu, lhett autuus, minulle!"

I wavered a slight amount, and it stalked towards me in the eight foot circle, a hole in the earth endlessly sucking, trying to pull her back into the grave. I kept eye contact in those black, black holes.

"Kehotan teit, Goddess Kuu, lhett autuus, minulle!"

I said it strongly, gripping my knife, readying to strike if the spell didn't work. It got on all fours, crawling towards me like some terror from under the bed. It was hungry... so hungry. It was going to be close enough to touch by the time I finished the chant...

"Kehotan teit, Goddess Kuu, lhett autuus, minulle!"

I slammed one hand into its forehead, and wrapped the other around its neck, lifting the body up. My power tore through the withered flesh like a tornado through tissue paper.

"From death you are born, and to death you return forevermore."

I whispered, and the body just turned into ash in my hands, crumbling away into the sucking hole, which promptly closed. Jesus Fucking Christ. I had to invoke the power of an ancient lunar goddess to kill the thing. The green eyed vamp stared at me in horror. Only he and the Master remained. I'd only sent a vampire two or three times, and never sent one who was so hollow like that. Like she wasn't slain properly.

I shivered and wiped my hands on my yoga pants, leaving a powdery grey stain. Cool. I turned to the Master and Anita, who had broken the circle as soon as it died to treat Larry's wound.

"What. The. Fuck."

I said once more for emphasis.

"She wasn't supposed to rise. There was only ash."

"I'd fucking say."

Jean-Claude's gaze lingered on me, his cool power fluttering over my skin like butterflies. I met his eyes, my walls more concrete than ever. He brushed them, and pushed a bit. It didn't seem like he could pass. I guess my nifty abilities gave me the strength to block out death. I'd thought about immortality before, perhaps my skillset would protect me from death. But after losing my life-partner, I sort of figured immortality wasn't great if you watched everything you love wither and die. Loneliness is a hell of a motivator.

"How eloquent. She's a lot like you, ma petit."

Anita scowled at him. I know I shouldn't have thought it was cute; she would have killed me, but goddamnit she was adorable. Scary as fuck if she could raise a fucking dead vampire. But who says killer can't be cute? I'm not bad looking when I try I guess.

Apparently Larry was going home, by way of his car which he'd left last night. So that explained the perma-grave. I was to follow Anita and the remaining vampires to their little hideout, and probably let them eat my eyeballs out or something fun like that.

 **CHAPTER 2: NOODLES AND A MURDER [OR MURDERS IF YOU PREFER]**

I drove in silence to the vampire district, putting my sweaty hair up in a knot, letting the close cropped sides and back dry in the wind of my open window. We approached the Carnival of the Damned. I'd been there before for a friend's birthday while she was attending school here. I did not have the fun they indicated I would. I parked my car and slid my self-defense gun into my side holster. Black on black, no one would notice if they weren't looking right at me, and something tells me they'd be looking at my almost colourless appearance and not my body. I didn't even carry silver bullets. I had a case back in my apartment, but didn't carry them. Maybe U should.

The gun was a Sig Sauer P238, petite and discreet. A normal girly gun. Anita had a Browning. The kind of gun I assumed was compensation for a small dick if carried by a man. Anita was not a man, so she had the biggest metaphorical dick around. She probably had more firepower. Hell she probably had like an Uzi or some shit.

I was gently pushed along by a black woman who met us at the gate. She was a shifter, and wearing a Carnivale costume. I had to say, she looked damn good. I tried not to let my eyes wander and be the picture of feminism pansexuality, and it was difficult not to watch her swaying hips covered in glittering beads. I tried to distract myself by tracking the direction we were headed. The smell of carnival foods floated on the air, and the deeper tang of rust underneath it all slid unpleasantly in my nose. Blood. Of fucking course.

She led me into a tent, and down stairs. We kept going, and going, and going, and I wondered vaguely if they were going to kill me. Probably not? I would certainly regret paying that down on the subsidized living home that I picked out for the lack of sunshine and privacy, on farm land that had been retired and was now thick with trees. It had probably been a servant's quarters at one point. Quaint. Pricey.

We finally came to a sort of door that was huge, and heavy. Barred in iron, I was sure it was older than the current Master. She slid a key into the hole on the handle, and it clicked in the well oiled barrel and slid open in that whisper that well-maintained bigass doors have. A long hall carpeted in white led into a foyer, and then a larger open room that seemed like a living room, but much much bigger.

"Wow."

I said simply, and she laughed. It was a sexy laugh. I bet she gave good phone. Maybe it was a shifter thing though, since most are kind of sexy. I don't have the ability to sense what kind of shifter they are. Only to feel their auras. She motioned for me to sit on a plush and cozy looking couch, and I sat on the edge, forcing myself not to recline, drained by the previous experience of the night.

"So uh-"

I ran my hand over my face, and rubbed my eyes hard, trying to erase the situation from before; the pale face, the snapping teeth, Larry's pale face even more white in the silver light of night, terrified.

"-why am I here again?"

She stared at me with sea green eyes. Must be North African, or maybe some mixed race person. Islander? Is it racist to wonder where she got those pretty eyes?

"The Master wishes to speak with you about a series of events."

"How lovably cryptic. You learn that from the vamps?"

Her lips split into a grin, white teeth showing, with just a hint of a gap between her top middle teeth. Adorable, if she didn't think I was food. Ah, I was being specist. Shiftist? Maybe she was a prey species, but something hard in those eyes said predator.

"I got it all on my own. I'm sorry, I can't tell you more. The Master will fill you in more when he gets in. I hope you-"

"Welcome to my home, Ms. Mordue. I am Jean-Claude, the Master of the City. I trust our Cheyenne hasn't spooked you."

His voice carried across the room, and he waltzed in from behind a red curtain to my right. I hadn't felt him enter, but I wasn't looking. I sort of blocked vampires from my mind unless I needed to, and I did at this point, but goddamnit there was a pretty girl wearing almost nothing in front of me. Great, one day I might die because I'm a leche. I swiveled and then stood, holding out my hand.

"I'm aware of who you are, monsieur, but how have you happened upon my name?"

I got a good look at Jean-Claude and fought the urge to let out a bit of a snigger at his clothing. Anyone else into period fashion would have a raging fabric boner over the genuine chantilly lace spilling out in ruffles around his neck and down his chest, and at the wrists of the white chemise. We stood at exactly the same height, and his milky white skin was set with deep blue eyes. Not greyish-blue like myself, but actual sapphire blue. His curly black hair hung around his face down to his collarbone, framing it. He looked like a mall goth's wet dream. He probably is a mall goth's wet dream.

Alas, I am not a mall goth. Anita was just a bit behind him, and a man only slightly taller than her was next to her. I could feel shifter in him. He was tan and toned, with blonde hair cropped to his head, and eyes the colour of a spring morning sky. Another for the pretty-not-spooky blue eyes club. Fuck you, beach boy.

"This is Jason, my... friend. I'm sure you've met Anita."

I stood with my feet apart, and he took my hand, shaking it. He was warm, and had fed. Probably on the shifter. He did have that dazed, just-rolled face that I recall bleeders having. Ah, sorry, not bleeders. They tend to frown on that.

"You mean your pomme de sang?"

He raised his perfectly sculpted brows and gave a small look of surprise.

"You know our terms!"

"I know a lot about vampires. I know I was brought here for questioning as well."

He cast his eyes at the woman he referred to as Cheyenne, and she backed up a little, hiding her face.

"Hey, she didn't tell me anything else. Don't pull any scary bullshit with her."

He looked back to me, his face a mask of suspicion.

"Have you eaten?"

"Well... no. But something tells me you don't stock my brand."

He laughed, and it was absolutely delightful, like brushing your cold fingers on warm velvet. It brought up sadder memories.

"We can order out. Do you have a preference? My treat, of course. The shifters are going to eat soon enough, as the park is closing."

"Chinese. Always. Something with pork and noodles."

Jason laughed, and it was warm as well, but not unnatural. The sort of laugh you imagine a good-ol'-boy would have. I wonder what he was like before he was a shifter. Just as cute then as now. Probably a little shit.

"Consider it done, little lady."

He said as he turned and went back through the curtain. I must have made a face, because Jean-Claude laughed, and Anita smacked his arm.

"You didn't seem to like that much, petit spectre. Mon petit also hates being called small."

Anita scowled and I mirrored it. I made a silent note to be grumpy about the cutesy nickname forever and I cast my gaze up at him with my walls in place. He seemed to scale them, but couldn't quite get over. Sort of how you can reach over a barrier, but can't quite get all the way over.

"It's just that he's smaller than me. It's just fucking..."

I made a face and gestured with my left hand, tucking my right arm under my breasts, and gripping the side of my shirt.

"It's fucking annoying."

Anita picked up where I left off. I looked at her, assessing briefly and then decided quietly that she was a role model for girls like me.

"Exactly."

Jason came back through the curtain, and I glared at him. Apparently the food was on the way, and also did you know my pants were very tight around my ass and thighs. I could have shot him there, but it wouldn't have done any good to fire a gun whilst probably being accused of something seedy. He swept an arm through the curtain, and I followed Anita and Jean-Claude into what appeared to be a 18th century dining hall.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Oh, he's not."

We sat around a rectangular table, and Cheyenne went into some door, assumably to change. Jason went out a door behind me.

"So what did I do?"

Anita watched me from directly across the table, her hands folded in front of her, and Jean-Claude motioned towards a door at the back of the hall. It opened and out came the sullen looking redhead from the ritual at the graveyard. Great. The place was positively brimming with my fans.

"Do you mind if I call someone to let them know where I am?"

"We mean you no harm."

Jean-Claude said. I watched the redhead walk towards the table, and realized the only open seats were next to me. Fucking...

"Is this your version of the 'get-along' shirt?"

Anita said, looking to Jean-Claude. Good, she also sensed the grumps distaste with me.

"I can't say I'm overly enthused."

The man said softly, as he sank down into the seat besides me. He was pale, and gave off no heat. He hadn't fed. All of the vamps I'd seen tonight had fed but him. I wonder why that was.

"Aren't you hungry?"

I said softly, frowning and reaching out to touch his arm. I temporarily forgot his disgust, and you could hear a very un-Meg concern in my voice. He flinched at first, but let my gloves touch his bare arm, a forest green button-up stark against his paper white skin. He turned to look at me, and we made eye contact.

"...Shit."

I said softly, and with feeling. I felt his power brush against me, and suddenly the room faded away. Everything was chaotic, I could hear steel against steel, the screams of men, and I felt a cold wind whipping my wet hair back and forth. I reached out to touch his beautiful, beautiful face as he fell from his horse, and-

"ENOUGH!"

Rang out Anita's voice, far above the sounds of battle and death. I fell backwards out of my chair, and scrabbled backwards, crawling like a crab on my hands and feet. I was panicking, frantic. My breath was coming fast, and my eyes darted around the room. Someone was screaming. Someone was me. I ceased the minute I understood.

"He wanted you to see that. He is utterly convinced you are someone else."

Jean-Claude said, his firm arm tensing as he pulled me up, careful not to touch my skin. I stood for a moment, regaining my balance, and felt a bruise forming at my lower back.

"Holy shit, are you okay? You damn near broke your ass, and we could hear you screaming outside."

Jason said, holding the brown paper bag with the Chinese food. He placed it gently on the table, and looked at me, concerned. Cheyenne had returned in an outfit similar to Jasons, a faded t-shirt and jeans.

I took my chair from my side of the table, and dragged it across the stone flags and plopped my ass down right next to Anita. Straight up FUCK sitting next to that fucking creep.

"This is Damian. He's very old."

"I know."

I looked at my reflection in the polished surface of the plate in front of me. My eyes looked hollow; haunted. Not great, but better than piss-myself scared. I'll take it.

"Is everyone ready to talk about what happened up north?"

There was a quiet murmur of agreement, and I shook my head slowly, watching Jason place my pork lo-mein in front of me. Sweet Jesus, a direct line to my heart is through my stomach. Noodles are generally line-shaped, so that's convenient. I opened my food and slipped chopsticks out of their little paper pocket, and closed my eyes, mouthing a little prayer. I opened my eyes, and took a bite, pausing after to ask a simple question.

"So whatever happened, you think I did it?"

"Let me explain, petit spectre."

I wrinkled my nose at the nickname, but let him continue.

"In Canada, near Victoria Falls, there was a meeting between vampires of this city and vampires of that city. Several of the younger vampires disappeared from both clans, and some left blood trails. They reeked of death magic. Not the hoodoo that ma petit uses, but older, darker. Then you show up here. Damian was there with the young ones, and swears he felt your exact presence that night."

I stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Noodles slowly slid from between my chopsticks back into the container.

"You think that I killed your vampires?"

"I'm not finished. Some of the young ones were found torn apart, as though something had eaten bits and pieces of them. A local shifter died as well."

I blinked, and the last noodle fell from my frozen chopsticks.

"You can't mean I ate-"

"No, of course not, but we know you are capable of raising the dead. It could have been a ghoul you created."

"You're fucking kidding me. I'd never hurt a chylde... ah, a young one. They barely know right from wrong. Wasn't Damian with them to keep them safe?"

"A chylde?"

Damian said from the other side of the table. He narrowed his eyes.

"That's very old speak for someone like you."

I stared him down, standing, and made a point to spear my chopsticks into my remaining noodles.

"You know nothing about me, fitte."

His cat-like green eyes seemed to flare, and he stood.

"How dare you..."

Anita was giggling. God help me, she was giggling.

"What did you call him, exactly? And what's the deal with chylde?"

Jean-Claude motioned for me to explain.

"Well first of all, fitte means cunt, or pussy. It's what you call a weak-willed person. It's Norwegian. Second, chylde is very, very old vampire slang. Chylde is to Syre as young one is to Master. It was more commonly used in the Nordic countries, but hasn't been for a while."

She nodded.

"The spells you used at the graveyard were Norse, weren't they?"

"Some were Gaelic, but yes, the... final death invocation I used on Theresa was Norse. Finnish."

I turned back to Damian.

"I didn't kill your young ones. You can look into my mind and see that yourself, if you want."

He sneered.

"And how do you plan to do that, tispe?"

I rolled my eyes, and drew my little knife from my boot, grabbing a goblet. I suppose I'd earned being called a bitch. I started it after all, and it wasn't exactly false. They watched me with eyes pensive as I strode to his side of the table. I pulled up my sleeve and placed the tip of the knife against my wrist, and pushed down, letting the steady drip of blood trickle into the goblet. The droplets seemed black against the hammered metal, and I let my eyes slide closed.

"Jeg lover ubemannede, Aesir klippe meg ned hvis jeg lyver."

The Norwegian felt rough on my tongue. I opened my eyes, and pressed my sleeve down on the cut. He watched me, eyes swimming in the colour of ivy.

"If you don't drink it now, it will grow cold and be unpleasant."

He grabbed the goblet, and threw the contents back, swallowing in one gulp. He staggered back, falling into his chair. His head lulled forward, and he slowly sat up.

"You've got one hell of a kick."

"So I've heard."

He straightened his back, and his eyes seemed unfocused, as though he had just had a really, really good orgasm. Can't blame him. My stuff is powerful. Not disciplined, but powerful.

"She speaks the truth. I'm not sure how, but she speaks the truth."

His words slurred slightly, and my face must have been the picture of smugness as I took my seat, grabbing my chopsticks and shoving a faceful of noodles into my mouth. Jean-

Claude smirked. I thought for a second that maybe Anita's blood did the same thing. More power, more of a kick. She looked at me, and it was like she'd seen the truth through Damian.

"We believe you. But we must now beseech your help. We need to avenge their deaths."

"Why not involve RPIT?"

"It's an international crime, and Canada works differently than here in America. They do not consider the murder of vampires true murder."

"That's fucked. What about the shifter?"

He let out a small laugh at my profanity. I love being quaint. Simply love it.

"The shifter was... off the grid, as you say."

"Undocumented?"

"Oui."

I swallowed the last bite of noodles, and folded the container up. I sat, thinking.

"Can you find it without me?"

It was Anita's turn to speak.

"We can, but we fear it might strike again. The patterns are lining up, a similar set of killings in Alaska about two months ago. We think it's the same perp. That was official RPIT, but this... this is international. It's touchy."

I groaned, putting my head in my hands. I had done the vampire bullshit thing before, and was SO not up to it. But the thought of what amounted to helpless mental patients dying and something like me doing it... shit. Fucking shit. Shitting fucking shit fuck. Goddamnit. I released a long sigh I hadn't known I was holding in.

"Okay. I'll help. I'll need to see the scenes of the crimes, and will need permissions of the separate Masters at each location to enter their land. And how the fuck am I going to explain this to Bert?"

I looked at Anita.

"I've got it covered. Told him you were interested in studying some of my techniques, said we'd be traveling so you could learn a bit of everything. Hope you have a passport."

"Anita I'm foreign, of course I have a passport."

She looked at me, genuinely surprised.

"You don't sound foreign."

"Not everyone likes their origins."

I shrugged, and stood up again.

"Can I go home now? I'm fucking exhausted."

Jean-Claude stood up, and beamed at me in the same way that cats beam at fresh meat they know they aren't allowed to have, but swat at anyway.

"Damian will escort you upstairs."

"Spiffy."

The walk was silent, and he didn't look at me for most of it. You can't blame me for taking peeks at him though. I was damn curious about him, also he was smoking hot. His red hair was wavy, and had little braids intermittant through-out. Pretty. His bone structure was Norse, but he had the colours of a Scott. I knew a woman like that. I knew her well.

We surfaced under the moonlight, the carnival now dark and quiet. He idled at the entrance, and I kept walking.

"Wait, for a moment."

I stopped, looking over my shoulder. He approached me, a sort of sheepish look on his face. Nearly a thousand years old and he still could have the ability to seem boyish, almost cute. That is, when he wasn't looking grumpy as all hell.

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Yes you did. You thought I had murdered young ones, and bested you by way of stealth."

"Well... yes. But I see now that you're innocent, and I wish to apologize."

He rocked back and forth on his heels, a very human gesture. Was he not used to awkward situations?

"It's alright. I give you my word that I will help you find whatever did this. I promise you."

He met my gaze with those alien, ivy-coloured eyes.

"Have you ever heard of Sigrun? She was a valkyrie in Norse religion. She was a lover of the undead, and a battle hardened maiden."

"Sounds like Anita."

"And yet she was described as tall and ghostly, with eyes the colour of deep ice and hair the colour of snow."

I smiled.

"Why Damian, are you coming onto me?"

He looked away.

"It's just a comparison. Good evening, Ms. Mordue."

And with that, he strode back towards the tent. How adorable. The vampire has a little crush.

 **Chapter 3: Little White Riding Hood**

I arrived home a little before dawn. Pulling into the gravel driveway in the one acre homestead surrounded by trees was almost cathartic. The crunch of the rocks underfoot brought me back to the world of the living. My feet fucking hurt. Unlocking the barred wooden door to my home, it swung in silently, barely a whisper on the hinges. My eyes cast across the empty living room, too big for my tastes, but withdrawn enough that no one would come bother me. I didn't have much in terms of belongings; when you move often, you get sick of packing things up. You prioritize.

Kicking my shoes off towards the couch, and stripping down to my underwear, I padded to the kitchen and set the 12 cup coffeemaker to bubble at 9, giving it time to cool. Scalding hot coffee is tasteless coffee. What use is expensive flavoured coffee if you burn your tongue off drinking it?

Thank Christ I had the next day off. Who anticipated a midnight trip to the carnival? I flumped down on my squishy new couch. I didn't compromise on couch or bed. Sometimes as an animator you simply don't have it in you to make it to your bedroom. Rolling on my back, I stared up at the slowly revolving ceiling fan and watched the blades in their circular pattern drift across my vision. I felt my eyelids grow heavy, and drifted off to sleep.

I could feel the dew on the grass beneath my hands, and smell autumn air, feel it nipping ever-so-gently at my nose with the passing breeze. I could hear someone calling my name. Who was it? Where am I?

"Nutmeg, get up!"

I let my eyes slide open to a familiar face. Pale, impossibly pale, like the colour of the moonlight, speckled with freckles that would never fade with time. Her honey coloured eyes sparkled with joy. Joy at looking into my eyes. She shook her full head of red curls, letting the chaos fall from over her shoulder down to her waist. Her hand reached out towards me and pulled me up. As she turned into the clear starlight, I could see the ruined half of her face. Her father cast her out for being imperfect, but I would always, always love her.

She pressed her petite and curvy frame against my comparatively lanky body, and took a deep breath in. She looked up at me, grinning wide, a big, careless, happy smile. Her fangs glittered in the stars, and she sighed as though she could look at my face for a million years and never get tired.

"This may be the last night we have together, Meg."

She said.

"You always say that, pikku tähti!"

I exclaimed, spinning her tiny frame in a circle. She giggled, and it tugged my heart in a way I didn't understand. I loved her so much.

My perfect, precious Gratia.

I awoke with a start, at the incessant chirping of my cellphone, long abandoned in the pocket of my pants in the kitchen. I scrabbled rather ungracefully off the couch, half crawling to the kitchen and got the phone just in time.

"Yes [pant] hello [pant] this is Meg [pant]."

There was a brief silence.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Ah yes, the cheeky wolf, Jason. I rubbed my eyes and let out a rather exasperated sigh, which then had a delightful encore when I heard the coffee pot kick on.

"It's 9 in the fucking morning, Fido. What do you need?"

"Christ, who shit in your biscuit?"

"You did, Jason. You did. I've only had four hours of sleep. Do you reckon Anita is this chipper on four hours?"

He paused for a moment, and if I didn't have better instinct, I'd have said he was rethinking his actions. But alas-

"Just as chipper as you, I'd reckon."

I sighed, and rubbed my temples, trying to rid myself of the impending headache. Grumbling, I slunk to the kitchen while he prattled on in my ear about something or another involving a mermaid. I poured my coffee into one of my favorite mugs, a lilac ceramic one that had CUNT scrawled across it in lovely feminine writing. I took one, two, three long sips.

"Okay. Now you may speak to a semi-sentient me."

He laughed that typical valley boy way, where they surely mean well, yet it sounds demeaning anyway, like even if they were laughing at something genuinely innocent, it would still seem like he was laughing at you.

"We want you to see a therapist."

"Fat fucking chance, Jason."

"It's just so that we can pull some memories forward and see-"

"I am not agreeing to this."

And then I heard knocking. With a wholehearted grown, I threw a discarded hoodie over my bra and boyshorts, uncaring at who might witness me in this fashion. I walked the few feet to the door mug in-hand, and opened it to see a shorter, tanned man with freckles and the greenest eyes I'd ever seen. He was dressed well, a slate suit-jacket over a peach button up, and slate slacks as well. He smelled nice, like cinnamon. Definitely a shifter, with his genial good looks and those spooky eyes. I was only slightly impressed, and leaned against the door jam, slurping my coffee and adjusting the strap of my bra.

"And you are?"

"Micah. Am I early?"

From over the phone, I heard a quiet 'shit'.

"I take it you're here early."

"Well I'd say so. Looks like you're a bit underdressed for the occassion. Would you like me to go?"

I shook my head, draining the last dregs of my sweet essence of life.

"I'm used to shifters. Nudity is something you get used to. I'm demure compared to some of the things I've seen."

Slinking over to the island separating the living room and the kitchen, I slid my coffee cup across the granite, and it clinked to a stop near the sink. I allowed myself a smirk. I am getting better at being lazy.

"Can I get dressed?"

"By all means, go for it."

He gestured towards the hallway, and I turned on my heel, striding towards the end of the hallway, passing two rooms on my way to the stairs facing the east. With each step, my mind ticked at why I was being taken somewhere. It's pointless to resist, really. I can't take a shifter without hurting them, and this Micah was a well publicized partner of Anita's. I'll be damned if I cross her.

I reached my bedroom at the top of the stairs, set in what was formerly an attic, but now a lofty A-line room lined with dust. Through the light filter of dust, the sunshine streamed in like ribbons through the windows. Sitting on my bed, I took a moment to inhale deeply with my eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun, and the smell of dry timber and camphor. Maybe seeing that therapist isn't such a terrible idea. Maybe I'll even get some closure. I rose, feeling rested perhaps a bit more than before.

I rummaged through my bureau and pulled out a quick outfit. I went for a casual but put together look, black jeans that hugged my hips and calves, making me proud of remembering leg and squats day. I grabbed a red tank top, and pulled it over my head, and grumbled as it failed to cover my belly button. I stared down a moment at the bit of gold dangling from the skin there, and decided I liked it after all. Fuck it, why not live in the now. I grabbed a gold pentacle from my jewelry box, and then grabbed the only thing that it could attach to, a black collar that encompassed my throat in supple, thin leather. It was a gift from someone, but as i wracked my brain attempting to remember who, I came up with a blank. Good. Something to tell the shrink, I thought, and laughed quietly as I laced up the back of the choker and clipped the pentacle in place.

What came next was standard fare, the shoulder holster for my Sig, and a nice knife sheath at my lower back with a pair of knuckles attached with industrial velcro. I had to custom order the knuckles, which are obviously usually brass, to be high silver content in the core and pure silver coated. I then slid a simple combat knife into the sheath, snapping the holder in place to keep it secure. It's not like the movies, you know. There's shit that keeps the weapon in the holder of choice. I then threw a denim jacket over it.

Slipping on my gloves has been second nature, but each time I grasp them I feel cold in my stomach. Staring in the mirror, I realized I hadnt showered, and let me tell you white hair shows dirt like you wouldn't believe. I threw my hair into a loose bun and wiped at the make-up left under my eyes.

"Smoky eye. Haha."

After staring a second longer, I grabbed some Ray-ban sunglasses and covered my eyes as a whole with the dark frames. Perfect. Trudging down the stairs, I was met by Micah at the landing, who blatantly looked me up and down as though assessing how much I might fetch at a meat shop.

"Excuse me, yes hello? Why are you here?"

He grinned up at me, his chartreuse eyes sparkling in the sunlight beaming through the round window at the landing.

"I'm taking you to your appointment."

"And if I were to refuse?"

"The perimeters stay the same."

"Well, ain't that grand?"

One hour-long, disgruntled car ride punctuated only by alternative rock playing quietly in the sound system later, we pulled up to a pretty house in the suburbs. I raised a brow, assessing the situation.

"What...?"

And then the door of the house opened, and a wave of magic washed over my skin, prickly and sickly sweet. Wiccan. God fearin'. Great. I slid out of the seat of the car, and extended a gloved hand the woman who walked down the little sidewalk leading to the front of the house. A sort of Good Housing style woman, she wore a cute pink tracksuit and had blonde, highlighted hair up in a pony. Who is this? Home Altar Barbie?

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Megara, but you can call me Meg."

"I'm Tammy, Larry's wife."

I raised my brows. That kid was married? Shit, I must seem like a miser compared to this. And let me just say, he has done well for himself. We followed her into the neatly decorated house, and I took a moment to breathe in the spices in the air. Comforting, and designed to center ones self.

"Are we meeting the therapist here?"

At her request, I slid into a comfy chair at her oak dining room table, and idly pushed around some coins that had been left on the table next to a pair of keys.

"Actually, I'll be helping you out today."

She called from the kitchen, pouring hot water into mugs. The smell of lavender filled the air as she brought the mugs to us. Tea, of course. I took a sip and was pleasantly surprised.

"Did you blend this yourself? I love the rosemary addition."

"Yes, and thank you!"

She beamed, obviously pleased with my compliment. I took note of her expression, warm but hard. This woman has seen some shit, I bet.

"So, the one thing I have to ask you is that you don't touch my skin. It's dangerous."

"We actually talked about that, and I purchased this to circumvent that."

She grabbed a grocery bag from under the table and pulled a roll of paper from it.

"...Paper?"

"Vellum. It's made from sheep's skin. It will let the magic move through without interfering as the animal itself is dead."

I had to commend her for that. A brilliant witch, pretty, and well kept. Fuck women like that. Good at everything. We finished our tea and chatted idly about work. She talked about working as a detective with RPIT, and I talked about the raising. Once the tea had set in, I was feeling more comfortable with her rooting around in my memories. We followed her into her altar room, and I felt the powers slide over my skin like a whisper of silk.

"Crossing another magic user's barrier always feels strange."

"Doesn't it?"

She commented, sitting on one of two cushions facing one another. I sat in front of her, and went to slide off my gloves.

"Wait, we need someone to handle something first."

Micah laughed, and strode to a chest in the corner of the room, pulling out... a tarp? Good things never happen when a tarp is needed. Tarps and buckets both.

"You want me to do it here?"

"...what?"

He chuckled again, and removed his jacket and belt, stripping down to the nude. I couldn't help but watch. He was shorter than me, but from the cushion on the floor I couldn't really gauge that. small, curly hairs decorated his chest and stomach down to a fluffy tuft at his groin, and I could smell him more strongly.

"Shifters are so not fair."

Tammy giggled, patting my gloved hand. I jumped at the contact, but didn't move away or tell her to refrain. Here I am being nice, to Glenda Goodwitch. Next I'll start donating or going vegan. Ha, like that will ever happen. Fuck yeah steak.

"He's pretty, but we need his strength for this spell to work. I've heard from Anita that you're different, and we'll need a conduit."

I watched him as he knelt on the wood, and watched him change. It wasn't like they usually are, with ripping and tearing and agony, then again what I remembered was an old memory... who was that anyway? I'd dated shifters, but sex is difficult when you can't really touch the person. Usually doesn't work out. He looked dazed, his eyes focused on something only he could see, and the smell of cinnamon filled the room even more, and I felt myself being tugged along with it. I kept my eyes focused on him, watching as his skin rippled as though I was watching him underwater, and started to split. His face contorted, but he seemed at peace. Dark hair flowed from the splits in his skin like mahogany water, slick at first with the liquid left during shifts. His hands formed into claws, then paws. When the situation was over he was dry, fully formed into a huge leopard. I let my eyes drift closed, trying to focus. Something about the shift made my stomach do flips. I wasn't sickened by it, but it was almost arousal. He smelled fantastic.

"Keep your eyes closed, okay?"

Tammy said softly, and i sensed Micah laying between us. I heard her unroll the scroll of vellum and place it across him, and spoke, my voice low and rasping.

"Can I take off my gloves?"

"Go ahead..."

She said, a questioning lilt in her voice. I slid off the leather and placed them next to my thigh, hearing everything as though I was right next to it. Even her breath, her heartbeat sounded close. My own was slowed to a steady thud. I reached out my fingers gingerly, and met the vellum, pressing down on it slightly and feeling the rich warmth from the furred body beneath it. I could feel peace from him, and life. It's hard to explain it, really. Death is a familiar feeling to me, but in those few moments I had touched someone I could feel the ebb and flow of their life, like some great, warm ocean. It fills you with all these emotions, all the joy, anger, and fear they ever had. Some people had more of one than the other. I suppose that's part of my ability to see their life. I felt a depression of the vellum from across me, and instantly felt Tammy's magic flow through my skin, hitting my psychic walls. I let them down, inch by inch.

"I want you to breathe. Think of that one place that makes you feel safe."

"Yeah yeah, go to my happy place or whatever."

From beneath my fingers the great body shook, and you could honestly almost hear a chuckle.

"Oh you stop that, this is serious."

I took a breath and thought of the one place I did know of. The forest back in Hungary. I concentrated, and Tammy began to speak, though I could barely hear it. The sound of wind through the trees began to grow, and went from a whisper, to a rush, and in a split second, I was there. I could be assed to explain it, but I was there.

"Well this is different."

I commented, the vellum being the only thing connecting me to the real world. One could easily get lost here. I looked down, and wasn't wearing what I was when I left the house. A simple brown tunic over leggings, and a pack on my back. I ran my free hand over the material. It wasn't synthetic. The moon shone bright over the clearing, the wind a bitter autumn sheet against my skin.

"Try to focus. Follow a familiar path."

Tammy's voice echoed.

I looked around for where it was coming from, and decided I shouldn't question it. Suspending disbelief is how hypnosis works, right? So we roll with it. I looked to the west, and saw smoke coming from the tops of the trees. I walked in that direction, the soil and dry grass crunching beneath my boots. It all felt so real... I placed the scroll in my pack, and felt more compelled to move faster. And faster.

Soon, I was booking it in the direction of the smoke, the trees flying past me like inky giants in the night. I burst into a small clearing before a cave, and could hear a man crying out within. With great concern, I hurried into the shallow cave, and saw him.

Him... His tan skin was slick with sweat, and he looked up at me through a mop of dark, tight curls. His body was shaking, and he was clutching his stomach, which had a wound that seemed to begin to fester. What startled me the most was his eyes, which shone a liquid copper. I dropped the pack near a bucket, and immediately rummaged through it.

"You have to leave!"

He said weakly, between gasps.

"i'm not leaving, you're injured and you need medical attention."

My mouth seemed to move on its own, the words falling from my lips as though I had thought them before saying them. So this is how memories work, eh? I grabbed a canteen and some bandages, and poured a bit of water onto the cloth, glimpsing my gloves for the first time. Sturdy leather, with armored knuckles. How far back did we even go? Was I even born this far back? I strode with confidence toward the man and grabbed his wrists, pulling them apart. Holy hell he was strong. I knew by this time he was a shifter. He might have smelled like the sea if he wasn't covered in sweat and blood. His pheramones were going crazy, and my mind dulled, my vision blurring as I struggled with him.

"Why are you so strong?"

He said, his voice less full of fear than before.

"I eat my beets. Maman always said it put hair on my chest like a big man, but I haven't seen an improvement."

He laughed then, a soft, weak one, and dropped his wrists to allow me at the wound. It wasn't deep, but it had been there a while, and he had obviously been digging at it. I ran my the soaked bandages as well as I could along the wound, wiping away the grime and gore.

"What happened?"

"There's an arrow head..."

He groaned, and I frowned.

"You can't get to it?"

"I... I healed around it."

I frowned at him, and then returned to my pack to grab a simple, but sharp hunting knife and a small flask of what smelled to be rum.

"Drink this."

He downed it without question, and coughed.

"Hell, little lady."

"Don't call me that."

I brandished the knife at him and posed the question I had been waiting on.

"Are you ready for me to get the arrow head?"

He didn't answer, but gritted his teeth and turned his head away from me, his eyes shut tight. I slid the tip of the knife into the opening, trying to follow the trajectory of the cut, and sliced. He let forth a growl that was utterly inhuman, and I paused, before continuing to dig the knife into the wound. Soon, the tip hit something hard with a click, and slid past it. I slid my little finger into the wound along the edge of the knife, and met the arrowhead in his flesh. He had bitten himself on the forearm, and blood began to drip down his chin.

"Don't make me clean that too."

I murmured, and pulled on the arrowhead. It slid out of his flesh with a sick sucking noise, and I placed it on the ground next to him. It sparkled bright silver, and I took note that it seemed very much silver and not steel. I then used the remainder of the bandages to help with blood flow, and wiped my knife on my tunic. He had released his arm, and his eyes met mine. I was leaning against him, and he was warm, so so warm. I met his eyes and something in the back of my head told me to run, and run fast. But I couldn't.

"I think there's an old temple near here. That will make a better resting place then here."

I said, coming to my feet. I pulled him up, and he held the bandages to his stomach.

"What's your name?"

"Erebus."

He said in a gruff voice, and grabbing my pack, we made it the mile north of the cave to the dilapitated temple. We took rest there, and I lit a fire in the pit between us, propping his head up under the pack. The wind continued to howl through the trees, but the temple was well built, and soon, in the warmth of the fire, I fell asleep.

"Who is that?"

I jumped slightly, coming to, the echo in my head of Tammy's voice startling me.

"I... I think I remember... it's very fuzzy..."

I felt myself say back in reality, and my vision faded back into focus, and I could hear Erebus' labored breathing. I woke with a start to see him on the altar, with a pale, short woman. Gratia. I could never forget Gratia.

"He is dying."

"I did all I could..."

I said softly, raising from my perch on a platform, and dropping down to the temple floor. She turned to face me, her red hair a halo around her angelic, half-ruined face.

"They shot him with a silver arrow. It is fatal to his kind."

"Are you a sprite?"

I said, drawing closer, the fire casting flickering shadows on the temple walls.

"I am older than the mythos of sprites or fairies."

She said, running her lily white hand over Erebus' jaw, and he tossed and turned, feverish.

"We can save him."

"And how would we do that?"

"We can call upon the goddess of this temple to fuse our souls."

I raised a brow, but allowed her to continue.

"We would be bound for life, but he might live, if we ask the goddess for help."

I nodded, and approached her as Erebus let out a sad sounding cry. My mind was whirling, and time seemed to fast forward. I was nude, he was nude, his body was close. I was kissing her, but she wasn't injured. I felt his course body hair under my hands, and the last thing I saw was blood red eyes, staring up at me as I straddled him, his body twitching beneath me, inside me. Then, everything went fuzzy, and I felt excruciating pain as though someone had drilled into my skull. With a yelp, I jerked back, and felt my hands leave the vellum.

Back to reality. Tammy was against the wall opposite me, looking dazed, and Micah had shifted back. She looked at me, shaking.

"Your eyes are red..."

"What? I have a terrible headache..."

"Not bloodshot, red."

I stood, shaking slightly, and left the room, stepping over Micah's naked body, and walked across the hall directly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I leaned against the vanity, and stared into my reflection. My face was paler that normal, sunken. I looked hungry, and dark, and she was right. My eyes were not grey. They were well and truly deep, deep red. I watched as a tear rolled down my cheek, then two, then three. I don't remember starting to cry, but I let it happen, and I sat on the edge of her tub. I wept softly, remembering blood and flesh and filth and sex and a man that I couldn't remember until we looked. Erebus. I felt the blood caked on my skin, and even though my hands were clean I scrubbed and scrubbed at them under the faucet, til they were red and raw. I rubbed my face with my wet hands, splashing my skin with cold water. The next time I looked in the mirror, my eyes were grey.

There was a soft knock on the door, and a voice came faintly from the other side.

"Are you okay, Meg?"

Said Tammy, and I opened the door.

"I think I'll live."

I said weakly, grinning. But by God, did I have something to think about.


End file.
